Dairy Queen saved my baby

Since yesterday was my baby's, ummm, I mean my daughter's 8th birthday, I'll share the story of the night she was born. She loves for me to tell her this and every year starting with her first birthday, I have cuddled with her while telling her about going to the hospital.

Since Ruby has two older siblings, making the trip to the hospital meant my son and daughter needed to go with my parents. The only problem was, we couldn't find my parents!

It was a Wednesday night and they had went to church. Church was already over, but we couldn't find them (this was before they had cell phones). I had a sudden inspiration: People are here go to the local Dairy Queen to hang out after church on Wednesday nights.

We drove into town, hoping that we'd find them at Dairy Queen - and yep, there they were - snarfing on some ice cream.

The end of the story is, of course, a new baby born later that evening!

Time flies. . .

They say time flies when you're having fun, but it also flies faster the older you get. I never used to believe that time passed as quickly as older people said - until I got older myself.

The kids have been going to Vacation Bible School at a church down the road this week. I drop them off at nine and pick them up at 11:30. During their time at VBS I work around the house - do some writing, some housework and such. That two and a half hours goes so darn fast that it's gone before I know it!

In the same way, I can't believe that the summer is halfway over. I mark the middle to end of summer with my kids' birthdays. My youngest - Ruby - will be celebrating her 8th birthday on the 12th of July, followed by my oldest's - Kage - 12th birthday on July 22 then middle Mia's 10th birthday on August 3.

Yes, we have a three-week-long birthday blitz every summer. It's exhausting but fun. I remember being so excited I could bust when it came time for my birthday as a kid, but I don't get that thrilled anymore. My kids do, though, so it's fun to watch them and feel the excitement rippling in the air as they get charged up for their birthdays.

With kids, they know exactly how old they are - especially when they get close to their big day. I remember telling people I was 11 and a half because I wanted people to know I was closer to 12 than to 11. I also remember rounding up my age when I was a kid. Once I hit 15 and a half, I was suddenly 16 (even before my birthday). Age was that important when I was young.

My 37th birthday is in August, but I don't tell people I'm 37. In truth, if someone asks how old I am, I have to stop and think "Now how old am I? What year is it now?" and "Let's see, I was born in 1972, this is 2009, so since my birthday is in August, I am. . .36 right now."

Yeah, I really do that. I have to think about it. When you're younger you know exactly how old you are at any given moment while you're counting down to milestones (10, 13, 16, 18 - then I stopped), but once you get older a birthday seems like more of a non-event. My age doesn't bother me at all, though - which is obvious since I tell people what my age is frequently (maybe because I'm trying to make sure I remember?).

I used to think someone my age now was so old. My parents are almost 60 and that doesn't seem as old as I used to think. It must all be about perspective now.

I find myself looking at my kids and thinking "How did they grow so fast?" This week, I'm wondering how my baby has reached her eighth birthday so darn fast! The fact that my oldest will be a teenager next year has also thrown me for a loop.

I guess it doesn't really matter - time will pass quickly or slowly - either way, though, it will pass. I can't stop it - nor would I want to, although I'd be happy to slow it down just a little - sometimes.

Either way, I'm enjoying my thirties (even as I slide down the side of that hill that takes me to 40 - which doesn't bother me at all) and I'm loving watching my kids grow older.

So, Happy Birthday to my baby Ruby - enjoy each day and each birthday and may each one be better than the last!

Dear Soldier
"Thank you" seems woefully inadequate to say to the military personnel who fight to protect my freedoms.
http://www.associatedcontent.comarticle/1899828/dear_soldier.html

Am I a husband beater?

No, I'm not. Really.

But I did do something stupid last night that has give my husband and friends a good giggle - at my expense. I guess I deserve that.

Let me preface by explaining: I HATE being tickled, and I HATE having my toes messed with. Specifically, I can't stand having my toenails played with. My husband thinks it's fun entertainment to grab my bare feet and flick my toenails because I spaz out. I go into "whacking out" mode - kicking at him to get away and punching his arms to make him stop.

He knows I absolutely hate this. He thinks it's funny - I don't. At all.

Last night he grabbed my feet and started with the toe flicking thing. I wasn't in the mood and decided I wasn't going to put up with it. I wasn't really mad, in truth - just not willing to giggle and put up with it. So I punched his arm - very hard - with my right hand. After a few good punches - which obviously don't make him stop his toe attacks, he decided to block my right arm (because he says I hit too well with it), which left me with no alternative but to start with my left hand.

I couldn't get good leverage, so instead of a punch, I slammed my left fist down on his arm. It hit his shoulder instead and I felt something pop in my hand.

When I howled in pain the doofus stopped his toe assault, but it was too late. The damage had been done. I don't think I actually broke anything - but I do think I cracked a bone. It's not bruising - but it really hurts. And movement is somewhat limited - just because it hurts to do too much.

I don't want to go to the ER to have it x-rayed because I'm not about to tell them I hit my husband. They wouldn't understand even if I told the whole story. For the record, Sam is 6'2", 250 pounds of biker-type intimidation, I am 5 feet of mush - I really don't think I could hurt him if I tried.

So - am I guilty of spousal abuse? I don't think so. He started it.

For the birds. . .

I enjoy watching and feeding the wild birds that visit my yard. There are lots of them. I have birdfeeders and birdhouses (that I made myself!) here and there and I often enjoy sitting on my swing to listen and watch.

I have a pair of Carolina Wrens who have called my butterfly garden home for the past couple of years. They have built nests and hung out - singing their sweet songs as I sit and watch them.

Yesterday I noticed a nest in a tree limb about 20 feet up - directly over my butterfly garden. I took a pic and decided to keep an eye open for the birds that might have built it.

Today I think I saw the builders - a pair of Robins. The nest is too high for me to know if there are babies in it, but I'll keep an eye on it to see if I can figure out what's shakin'.

I danced with the devil. . .sort of

Well I did it - I held a tarantula. And I survived, but you figured that one out. I wouldn't be writing this and you wouldn't be reading if I'd died from fright.

I took my kids to the local library for a reading program about bugs. The presenter had a few live bugs for the kids to see and even hold - one of which was a tarantula.

Now, I'm not fond of spiders and everybody knows it, but I decided to do something adventurous and hold the tarantula. When the lady asked "Who wants to hold the spider?" I said "I do!"

My kids were shocked. They were certain that Mom was going to spaz out, but I am proud to report that I did it. She set the tarantula in my hands and the critter started to shimmy up my hand a bit toward my arm and I didn't throw it across the room.

My mother even took a picture of me holding the thing - although it sort of looks like I'm smiling. That is actually a grimace.

I am proud of myself - because I have discovered that I am more adventurous as I get older. Ten years ago I would have never even considered doing such a thing.

The best part is that I proved to myself that I could step out of my comfort zone and survive.

Facing my fear: Arachnophobia

I don't like spiders. I talk in depth about my arachnophobia in an article I wrote here.

I have tried hard to relax my stance on spiders. I try not to spaz out every time one gets near me. It doesn't always work.

In fact, as part of my rehabilitation I have allowed a spider to reside in our house. This is one of those furry black (and harmless) spiders who hangs out on the ceiling. He crawls from room to room in our house on the ceiling. We've named him Larry.

But I digress. This week there is going to be a reading program for the kids at our local library and there is going to be a tarantula on display. Anyone who wants to will be able to hold the darn thing (obviously there are nutcases out there who would like to do such a stupid thing).

I've found myself toying with the idea of holding the sucker in an attempt to overcome my arachnophobia.

So, friends and readers, what do you think? Should I do it?